


crave that brain and that flesh (cups of tea and gums that bleed red)

by drag



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, Edging, Hannibal Lecter is Whipped, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Comeplay, Murder Husbands, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Size Kink, Will Graham Hates Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, but in a fucked up way, hannibal acts like that because his dick is so huge it gave him a god complex send tweet, they're married and they argue like it what more do you want from me, will is way too horny for murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drag/pseuds/drag
Summary: “Oh. Lovely. I’m as interesting to you as a corpse is. It’s what every girl wants to hear.” Will manages to deadpan, and earns a sharp nip to his stomach for his trouble that makes his hips twitch. “No, really, it’s kind of quaint to get a little good old fashioned objectification. It’s almost charming to know that when you look at me like I’m a piece of meat it’s meant in the most literal sense.”hannibal ties will up and edges him. the snark does not stop for even a second, during sex or murder.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	crave that brain and that flesh (cups of tea and gums that bleed red)

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from egyptian luvr by rejjie snow

Really, it’s just _laughable_ that it took the FBI so long to catch him.

“I mean, even _without_ the obvious things. If we forget you have both surgical and culinary knowledge.” Will complains, wriggling his wrists experimentally to check for give in the rope around them- equal parts concerned and satisfied, low and hot in his stomach, when he finds none there, both against his skin and where they’re attached to the headboard. “Ignoring the nonstop cannibalism puns. Aside from the _single_ word that your name rhymes with _._ If we had even taken a _second_ to consider your obsession with _displaying_ things, even when they aren’t dead bodies, it would have all slotted into place.”

Hannibal pulls away from sucking bruising kisses down the length of Will’s neck to smile at him with just his eyes, his fingers tracing little spiderwebs over the jut of Will’s bony hips that make him shiver and squirm where his legs are spread open, tied at either side of the bed . “Mmm. I was rather lucky your mind was an inferno when we first met. It would have been a shame to have had to kill you so early when you put two and two together at a dinner party. I wouldn’t have been able to savor it.”

Will opens his mouth to snark back, but sharp teeth tugging on his nipple break his words into an airy gasp. His back arches against the bed as he chokes on nothing, fruitlessly rolling his hips up in an artless, filthy grind at the pain and heat of his mouth. Hannibal, broad shoulders slotted between Will’s thighs, kisses and sucks where his teeth had been, mouth slick and hot with each playful press of his lips against the skin there, pulling away every time Will tries to chase it. There is both the coiled grace of a panther and the indescribably smug aura of a housecat in the controlled, measured way he moves, every tiny, dirty circle of his tongue purely just to fuck with Will’s head. It’s been like this for ages now, just Hannibal and his power trip, kissing his way across every single inch of skin except for where Will really needs him, making him want to thrash his way out of his binds so he can claw Hannibal to bits while he sits on his cock- or to spread his legs wider for Hannibal’s savage gaze, begging him for more torture. With not enough strength and too much dignity to pursue either option, all he can do is pant helplessly when Hannibal drags the rough, scorching flat of his tongue across his nipples, his dark eyes shining with amusement at Will’s predicament, lashline ringed with a bloody hunger that makes it obvious he won’t be letting up any time soon.

“Encephalitis aside,” Hannibal continues, between electric licks that pull quiet little gasps from Will’s mouth, “I constructed my tableaus entirely differently depending on subject matter. A dinner party carries a separate connotation to a death, a restraint. Those were more of a tease than to show what I was really capable of.” His fingertips rub over Will’s hard, wet nipples, rough little traces like waves over sand that are _just_ cruel enough to make Will need to bite his lip to not give Hannibal the satisfaction of outright moaning at his touch. “For situations such as _this_ , however, where everyone involved knows exactly what I am, I may be a little more overt about it. A little more clear about spreading the subject out. Creating a more obvious spectacle.”

“Oh. Lovely. I’m as interesting to you as a corpse is. It’s what every girl wants to hear.” Will manages to deadpan, and earns a sharp nip to his stomach for his trouble that makes his hips twitch. “No, really,” He continues, a little laugh threatening to break his snarky expression as Hannibal’s nose skims through the hair that crawls down past his navel, inhaling deeply as he goes because of _course_ he is, his answering smile obvious against Will’s stomach even with his head down, “it’s kind of quaint to get a little good old fashioned objectification. It’s almost charming to know that when you look at me like I’m a piece of meat it’s meant in the most literal sense.”

The next bite he gets is hard enough to make him choke on it a little, its razor edge against his hip and the stern look of warning Hannibal shoots him that’s joking but _not_ making Will’s heart flutter in a way he’s not quite ready to let on yet, wanting to see what else he can goad out of his husband as he makes his way down his body. “You can hardly fault me for looking at you as though you are delicious, Will,” Hannibal replies, his lips close and soft enough against Will’s stomach to make him squirm with the sensation, “the only way for me to stop is for you cease proving, time and time again, that you _are_ , in every sense of the word.”

 _Actually, Hannibal, I think that both I and the justice system_ **_can_ ** _fault you for wanting to_ **_eat people_ **, is how Will wants to snark back, but Hannibal, in a move that feels oddly merciful, chooses to that moment to close his lips over the head of his dick, the slick heat of his mouth firmly removing taunting his husband from Will’s current list of capabilities.

_“Fuck.”_

When Hannibal responds with a low hum of amusement, he can _feel_ it, wants to rut up into the air against it where his thighs and hips are held down, Hannibal’s tongue rubbing against his skin in a way that’s going to have him making the _worst_ noises soon, if he doesn’t cut it out. If anything, Hannibal’s obsession with giving head, the power of it, the control, the consuming, the _swallowing_ , is more evidence that he’s a parody of himself, but Will really, _really_ can’t bring himself to complain about it. Hannibal sucks cock the same singleminded way he commits murder, laser focused but without urgency, pure control and utter hedonism all at once as he takes what he knows he already owns; whether that's the life of a stranger or Will himself, all of him, his body, his mind, who he was and the becoming that followed that. He can be a real fucking _tease_ about it, though, both things, but in this case about sucking Will all the way down his throat, tight and hot and exactly what he needs, then pulling _off_ right when it’s getting _good_ , just to sit maddeningly back and watch the way it makes Will _writhe_ in his binds. When it gets too much all his frustrated little growls of warning earn him is Hannibal’s tongue, the little path it traces down the underside of his dick so sweet that it makes him _ache_ for more, which is all he needs to know that he's not going to get it, not yet. Hannibal licks at him, one big hand on his hip rubbing circles against the hair on his stomach, the other just _shamelessly_ groping Will’s ass as he so obviously, smugly revels in how _easy_ Will is for it, for him, how he can always manage to break Will down until he’s nothing but need. If Hannibal is a parody of himself, Will is just as much of a cliché for how weak he is for killer’s hands and surgeon’s fingers, all their power and precision, the thumb that slips down to just lightly tug at the rim of his asshole enough to produce a jagged, moaning sigh. Hannibal does it again, harder this time, nosing against Will’s perineum as his tongue rubs across his balls in a hot, rough tease. When his head comes up, his hair is at every angle from sucking cock, lips glossy with spit and precum, eyes low and hooded with desire- and yet, even as his image swims in Will’s blurring vision, he is, as always, completely and incurably self-satisfied.

“You’re a mess.” He says, expression _far_ too pleased with itself to belong with a man with his hair _that_ fucked up from sex.

“Suck my dick.” Will growls, feeling his biceps ache with the strain as he pulls fruitlessly, desperately against his binds, too stupid with how hot he is for it to find a better comeback.

“No.” Hannibal replies, and sinks into Will’s asshole with one finger, lube-slick seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t think I will.”

Will chokes on air, the shock of real stimulation almost too much after how long he’s been on edge, and then they’re kissing, no idea who leaned in first, just a sudden inferno of teeth and tongue and hot and unruly and _good._ Hannibal grunts into it when Will bites down on his lip, the thickness of his cock against Will’s thigh clearly doing as much for him as it is for Will, if not more, by the way he can’t stop rutting roughly into the jut of his hip with little half-thrusts as they kiss. He doesn't even have to move his finger for it to be good, the bastard, just leaves it fucked up inside Will like that for his sensitive rim to clench on and keep him on the edge of insanity as Hannibal claims his open, shamelessly moaning mouth with his tongue. It feels like stars echoing through his body, all of it, the stretch of his ass and each press of their lips and how filthy he knows he must look, legs spread open for Hannibal to fuck into him and fuck with him and fuck him up and _consume_ him entirely. It’s too much to feel, too much to communicate with words, but when their lips break apart and he whispers out “ _God,_ ” with the last of the breath he has, Hannibal’s answering chuckle is all he needs to know that he _knows._

“Follow that up with ‘no, only me’, and you are a dead man.” Will says when he has the air to do so, his forehead pressed to Hannibal’s, and gets another finger shoved into his ass for his trouble. “Aw, c’mon, you deserved that.” Will continues, once he can think again. “I should at least get a break from the puns while you’re actively inside me.” 

“You enjoy the puns. You think they’re charming.” Hannibal says mildly, middle and index fingers no longer motionless but just as teasing when they rub lazily, _righ_ _t_ below where Will needs them. His gaze is still condescending, adoring, and focused entirely on watching Will as he tips his head back, hips wriggling against the bed as he tries to get those awful, perfect fingers deeper in his ass. 

“No, _you_ think they’re charming. _I_ think they’re insufferable.”

“Then why do you have to stop yourself from laughing when I make them in the presence of company?” Hannibal counters, tilting his head innocently with a smile so sweet that the whole picture becomes viciously mocking, especially with the cruel twist of his fingers that leaves Will shuddering with the feeling of it. 

“Because for some _stupid_ reason, I like you, and decided to give up a perfectly normal life with a perfectly normal family and a perfectly normal dog to marry a man who sneaks oesophagi into my dinner and laughs at his own jokes and then doesn't even try to fuck me right to make up for them.” Will grumbles, and Hannibal laughs for real this time, head tilted back and sharp, crooked teeth on full display and in that moment, just when he’s not looking and it won’t inflate his ego any further, Will can finally, quietly admit to himself that his husband is just a little charming. Just a bit. Sometimes. When he’s not being a _total_ prick. 

Maybe sometimes then, too.

The firm, sudden _smack_ Hannibal lays on his ass makes Will squeak, and then he shuts up entirely when Hannibal _finally_ fucks him properly with his fingers, sliding down with deadly speed to dig his teeth into his thigh in a way that Will knows will _instantly_ leave a mark. _Definitely_ charming when he’s an asshole, he decides, and Hannibal confirms it with every bite and kiss that maps a crime-scene pinboard across Will’s open, helpless thighs. _Oh,_ his fingers are _relentless_ now, reaming Will’s hole deep and hard as he tips his head back and pants into the air and _takes_ it, wonderfully powerless to do anything else. It makes him feel suspended, floating in his own skin, the way he’s been on edge for so long he didn't even realise how close he is, the endless itch of need fogging his brain so heavily he almost forgot how it felt before it began. Lightheaded and distant as a lucid dream, all of reality condensed down to one single aching pinprick of teeth and tongue and big warm hands. It’s what he’s been teasing Hannibal towards, all of that power and terror focused on dragging sensation out of every inch of his body, his pulse skittering like the flutter of a wounded bird’s wings as Hannibal glowers up at him from between his legs and it all builds inside of him and it’s too much, too good, he’ll come, he’ll _come-_

-and then, Hannibal pulls out.

“ _Fucker!_ ” Will all but yells, lurching to take a swing at him with an arm he forgot was bound. Hannibal doesn’t even flinch, and, despite it all, Will’s hole clenches on nothing but hunger and desperation and how _stupidly_ hot it makes him.

“Oh? I’m sorry, Will.” Hannibal says, and _Christ,_ that expression is punchable, even if it still makes him horny. “I thought you wanted to be fucked harder.”

“I wanna _come_ , you stupid asshole.” Will growls, and Hannibal just raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s unfortunate.” He replies coolly, and goes back to dropping maddening kisses across Will’s spread thighs as he seethes and can do nothing about it.

_Bitch._

The worst part of it, Will thinks, is that Hannibal _does_ fuck him right, even when he acts like he’s not trying to, when he’s unravelling his brain into a single strand of need, leaving him split open and shaking at the feeling of what it does to him. No one’s ever fucked him like this, in any of his lost relationships with women that began half-failed or the fleeting, awkward one night stands he’s had with men. None one has ever understood what he needed so well, couldn’t have even been capable of it, nor been so hungry to give him whatever it is that he wants. It’s the same with all the parts of him that don’t make sense, the places inside of him where antlers grow, everything he never let himself see until Hannibal made him look. It’s the first time where the prospect of being known is appealing instead of claustrophobic, the first love he’s had to die to protect, over and over, and the only one that could ever have been worth it and _God_ \- Now is really not the time to be getting choked up, when the man in question is still making soft, hungry, filthy noises as he kisses lower between Will’s thighs, thumbs spreading his ass apart just to create an obscene view for himself to watch, but it really does still hit him so hard sometimes. How Hannibal is _it_ for him. How much they’ve survived together, because of each other, and how certain he is that nothing will ever be enough to truly break them apart.

It’s at that moment, for some reason, that Hannibal decides to lightly trace his tongue around Will’s hole.

“ _Ohhhhhhyoubastard._ ” Will sighs out in one long, thick slur, and Hannibal looks up at him from between his thighs with an expression that is half mocking, half devoted, and entirely, singularly _smug_.

“You look exquisite like this.” He says, gazing up at him like he’s watching the moon rise above the ocean. “Helpless. As though I’m your executioner, blessed with your final moments, watching you as you watch me inch the blade towards your sweet, fluttering throat.”

Will’s head thuds into the softness of the bed as he rolls his eyes, in disgust rather than pleasure, even as Hannibal runs his fingers down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “God, you’re such a fucking freak. I can’t believe I keep letting you put your dick in me.” Hannibal’s tongue darts back over the rim of his asshole, making him hiss and wish that he had an arm free to smack him with. “Besides, the only way you’d kill me would be by cracking my ribcage open to eat my heart and we both know it.”

When Hannibal nips a kiss to the inside of his thigh, Will can feel his smile against his skin. “My darling boy. You see me like no other.” He remarks, the big sappy pervert, and again, Will _so_ wishes he had a hand free to shut him up with, either to push his tongue back between his legs to ride his face or pull him up for a long, sweet kiss. Instead, all he can do is let his head loll, his muscles loosen, allow the whine that’s been patiently waiting to make an appearance since however long ago this whole thing started finally crawl pathetically from his throat when Hannibal shows mercy and runs the flat of his tongue across his hole in a hot, slick, stripe. Will is never going to find out if getting eaten open is always like this, savage and wet and destructive and carnal, or if it’s just Hannibal being a big weirdo again, but _fuck_ , it wrecks him every time. The way Hannibal licks him is filthy without pretense, getting into it just as much as Will is, thumbs still holding his hole open as he tongues across it, softness and spit on glossy pink skin that feels alive with sensation, so sweet it makes Will’s stomach burn from the inside when he feels Hannibal’s stubble rubbing against him. He’s sobbing by the time Hannibal finally spreads his hole wider and fucks his tongue into him, moans like something out of a grainy VHS porno for it, head clouding when Hannibal slides his fingers back into the mess he’s making out of Will to ruin him further. He doesn’t even have a comeback when Hannibal pulls away before he can finish this time, or the next time- only hoarse, desperate, whines, even when he starts playing with his dick again, giving it a few hard tugs before letting go when Will starts to get into the rhythm, fucking mindlessly into the air before his blood-starved brain catches up with reality. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Will.” Hannibal comments casually, and if it wasn’t for his heavy breathing and the way he can’t keep his dark, ravenous eyes off Will’s spit-shiny hole, he could almost be mistaken for being completely unaffected by the whole scene before him.

“It’s like I don’t even need to get off any more,” Will admits, quietly, taking his own sadistic pleasure in the sharp intake of breath that it earns him, “I just… Fuck _, Hannibal_ . Need you to fuck me. Want your dick.” He bites his lip and does the _thing_ , the looking up under his lashes thing, the same slutty little glance he used in front of God and an entire FBI team to convince Hannibal that his batshit insane plan to break him out of jail was going to be worth it because they would both be stupid enough to risk it all for each other. The look that to this day has never been successfully resisted, all puppy dog eyes and a _cum-on-me_ pout. “ _Please._ ”

It’s _all_ in him, then, so deep it’s like he’s choking on it, clouds in his brain and rushing water in the echo of his pulse and Hannibal’s teeth in his shoulder, dug in like graves, a pathetic, surprised “Unh!” knocked out of him by the motion. He’s being kissed before he’s even realised it, Hannibal’s mouth impatient as he slowly rolls his hips where they’re flattened against Will’s ass. Being a gentleman with it like Will hasn’t been _more_ than teased open by now, probably so vain that he thinks he still needs to be stretched around Hannibal’s dick before he can move. Will refuses to _ever_ admit that he’s a little bit right about that, but it’s nice like this, with the thickness of Hannibal’s cock just a little too much while his hole works around it, still getting used to how full it is inside of him while he’s deeply, thoroughly, _kissed_ . Hannibal’s hands are everywhere, over the knots holding his wrists together and the firm stretch of his biceps, snaking across his jaw and through his hair to tug Will’s head back and suck on his tongue, trailing teasing fingertips over his stomach and around his aching cock. They slip under the ropes around his thighs, soothing the rubbed-raw pang of his skin there, feather-light and sweet, before sliding back up to cup Will’s face, a little groan slipping out of Hannibal’s mouth as he rocks his dick up inside him, still only half-fucking him in a dirty, teasing slide that turns Will’s bones to molten lava within his skin. The praising, worshipful touch is _nice_ , but it’s _slow_ , far too slow, especially when Will is _finally_ getting what he’s been so desperate for. Hannibal startles when Will sinks his teeth into his lower lip, eyes glassy when he pulls away, lips wet from slick, open-mouthed kisses and _God,_ if Hannibal looks this wrecked Will can only imagine what _he_ looks like when he cocks a teasing eyebrow, tongue running over his lower lip as he stares him down.

“C’mon, Hannibal, you’ve been self indulgent for long enough. _Fuck_ me.” Hannibal’s looking at him in a way that makes it impossible to tell if he wants to rip him apart or drop to his knees and worship him, and Will grins, knowing that he has his husband exactly where he wants him, as usual. “Wanna feel you come inside me.” He finishes, and barely has time to feel smug at how he knows _exactly_ how to crack Hannibal’s control before there are hands on his thighs and a hot, vicious mouth on his nipples and all he can do is let a shocked little “ _Ah!”_ tear out of his chest as Hannibal growls and _pounds_ into him.

 _Ha. Whipped._ Will thinks, having absolutely _no_ right to do so, considering the way he’s begged Hannibal for cock, considering his mental coherency is shattering further and further with every second that passes as he gets split open. The way Hannibal fucks him feels downright murderous, a quick, furious rut that never pulls out far enough to stop the filthy, torturous grind of his dick against Will’s prostate. Hannibal’s tongue on his nipples feels like moonlight and blood in his mouth, the raw hunger of a kill in the tug of his teeth and the obscene slurp of his lips closing in a hard _suck_ that makes Will moan like he’s dying. Hannibal wraps his big hands around Will’s waist, driving roughly into his ass, and if he had even one hand free he would be clawing that strong, broad back to ribbons with his nails because _God,_ it never stops feeling like this, like they need to drag each other closer until they’re both utterly consumed. Hannibal’s stupid fucking giant dick that Will considers the catalyst for his chronic smugness is so _much_ when he fucks him like this, the stretch of his hole unyielding all the way through where he’s buried inside of him, reaches so deep that he swears he can feel it in his guts when Hannibal comes- _Fuck,_ he wants that, wants it even more than he wants to get off, needs to be marked up so bad that when Hannibal sinks his teeth nastily into his throat it makes him whine out loud. The drag of his cock makes Will feel like he’s dissolving, unravelling, got fucking spit leaking everywhere from a mouth he cannot close and a dick hard enough to fuck through steel from how _claimed_ it makes him feel- how it satisfies the sickest, darkest, most possessive parts of him to take each brutal thrust like this, his husband towering over him and hoisting his hips up so he can screw his cock in as deep as it will go. Will clutches at nothing, thighs and wrists straining with the building heat in his stomach, his head tipping back and lips open as he pants slickly into the air, knowing that he’s fucking _done_ for, in every sense of the phrase. 

“Yes, Hannibal, so good, more, _please_ -” And he doesn’t even need Hannibal’s hand, really, not at this point, could have come just like that, but _fuck,_ it’s perfect when that broad, rough palm slides just once over the head of his dick. Will sobs, a wounded, guttural thing, muscles in his thighs feeling wound tight enough to snap as his hole clenches and Hannibal licks across his pulse and he finally, _finally,_ shoots onto his own stomach, cum smearing down Hannibal’s abdomen too as he fucks him through it relentlessly. His brain blurs, the world spinning around him as Hannibal wraps his hand around him and drags the last of his orgasm out of him until he’s an oversensitive mess. Will whimpers when it’s too much, and Hannibal, still coherent enough to be a bastard, plays with him until his thrusts get ragged and irregular, only letting up when he drops his chest to Will’s and curls his arms around his shoulders to slam into his ass with all his strength.

Will talks him through it, wishing he had an arm free to slide into his hair, to stroke across his wide back as he whispers how deep he wants it, how Hannibal can give it to him harder, he can take it, voice cracked from getting fucked and so raspy it’s barely audible under Hannibal’s savage growls. He presses his lips to Will’s throat, muttering nonsense as he starts to lose his rhythm, “ _Will_ , darling, my beloved, so radiant, so _tight_ -” The rest is garbled lithuanian, and _damn,_ Will swears that Hannibal gets dirtier when he switches languages. He picks up half-snatches of phrases between the fog in his brain and shuddering, panting thrusts, _sweet little thing_ and _fill you up_ and _perfect fucking ass_ and then it’s just teeth in his shoulder with one long snarl of a growl as Hannibal shoves up inside of him and finishes there.

Mostly brainless and entirely boneless, Will barely registers the feeling of Hannibal sliding out of him, only enough to give a little disappointed whine as he feels a drop of cum roll out afterwards. Hannibal distractedly swipes two fingers across his hole and back into him, his other hand tugging at Will’s binds to release him, first his wrists and then each thigh. He massages them, which is nice, but Will knows he’s probably staring down at him with that one disgustingly reverent look that he _really_ wishes he wouldn’t use because it always reminds him of the time with the horse. If _only_ he had enough strength in his arms to take advantage of finally being free to stop Hannibal from doing it, to smack him across the back of the head and then wrap a hand around his throat to kiss him as hard as he deserves for making Will come like that. It’s almost good enough when Hannibal rolls them sideways, though, still face to face, one arm carefully wrapped around Will’s shoulders like he can’t bear to stop touching him just yet. He’s _clingy_ after sex, and it’s delightful, always makes Will crack a smile even when he’s so exhausted that just having his head on a pillow is putting him on the verge of knocking out. He can feel Hannibal watching him, and thinking something obnoxious, even without being able to open his eyes at the moment, and hopes that he’s projecting the giant middle finger he wants to give him with his mind even if he can’t physically perform the action. For whatever reason, either because he doesn’t catch it or doesn’t care, Hannibal decides to go ahead and ruin what could have potentially been a very nice moment by opening his mouth.

“After I ate your heart, I would display your body, but not in public.” He says, conversationally, and if Will had any strength left in his arms he would hit him with a pillow, because really, who the _fuck_ thinks this is appropriate post-sex discussion? “I wouldn’t leave you to rot, either. I would preserve what was left of you, keep it behind glass. You would be my prize possession, for my eyes only to bear witness.” He drops a kiss on Will’s shoulder as he pulls him in, chest to chest, and Will can feel it without seeing as Hannibal brushes a lock of hair from his face, already knows the devoted, awed, _sappy_ look he’s certain he’s being given beyond the fog of exhaustion and the curtain of his eyelids . “Too much of what I would wish to keep of you would be useless to eat. Your brain. Your eyes.” Skimming his other hand down Will’s body, he grabs his ass with a gentle chuckle, the big weird _freak,_ a move that would have Will rolling his eyes if he could get them open. “This, too, I cherish- it would serve me no purpose if you were dead, but perhaps it would be nice if I could continue to admire it after you had passed.”

“ _Ew._ ” Will responds, emphatically, and feels Hannibal’s chest rumble with a quiet laugh. “I would leave you alone in a ditch. Wearing a clown costume. Like you deserve.” He grumbles, finally cracking one eye open to glare at Hannibal, who grins at him, wide and sharp-toothed and with enough affection that it almost outweighs how smug he is. 

“You would consume me.” He says, taking Will’s sore wrist from where it lies between them and massaging it between two big, warm hands. “And whatever you could not consume, you would make sure to transform, to elevate to something higher. You would honour me. Every part.”

“I would turn your bones into wind chimes and hang them through the house.” Will admits quietly, the firm, steady touch kneading the ache from his wrists making him soft, sentimental, sickeningly _sincere_. “I would want to hear you wherever I went, behind my every footstep, calling me back to you.”

At that, Hannibal offers a rare lack of verbal response, instead electing to lift Will’s hand to his mouth and kiss its knuckles, making his eyes flutter closed and giving him the strength to shuffle closer so Hannibal can wrap his arms around him, tucking him against his chest as their breathing begins to slow.

“You know that the only way we’ll go out is together, right?” Will asks a while later, as sleep is beginning to close around the pair of them, cocooning them into their own little universe. When Hannibal responds, it’s rough and thick, distant in the haze of drowsiness. 

“It was the only way it could have ever been.” He says, and to Will, it sounds like a kiss, like a promise.

Like something he can hold.

**Author's Note:**

> no one cares and it's not relevant but this is set in my headcanon universe where will and hannibal survive the fall and move to a small town to hide out for a while and live off hannibal's insane amounts of secret money from being old and rich and european forever. hannibal takes up the position of the church organist which he's actually qualified for but he gets will to pretend to be a minister because he thinks it's funny and will goes along with it because it's basically lecturing but you have to act like you care more and they slowly turn everyone that lives there against each other with their petty small town drama so they can leave the place in flames with no trace of them when they move onto their next identities. they aren't married in a legal sense but they call each other husband because they like it and no one can stop them and soulmate is a bit TOO sappy to use every time. i might write more set in this universe that incorporates the hc a little more because i have a lot of thoughts about it and also there is so much opportunity to write priest kink.  
> this is my first time finishing writing something in over a year hope everyone enjoyed it please validate me in the comments x


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